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I’m walking out of my final lecture for the day when Gigi’s name pops up on my phone. My pulse quickens.
GISELE:
I know it’s last minute, but do you want to do a session in Munsen tonight?
I don’t think there’s any innuendo there. I believe she’s really asking to run drills. Yet the way my dick hardens and my ass cheeks clench, you’d think she texted me a picture of her pussy with the caption come fuck this.
I type a response as I walk to the parking lot.
ME:
I’m down.
GISELE:
9:15?
ME:
See you there.
The universe approves of us fucking.
This is confirmed when Gigi and I arrive at the rink and discover that the women’s locker rooms are out of service. A white paper taped to the door explains there’d been a flooding issue. The faint odor of sewage reaches my nostrils as we read the sign.
Gigi shrugs and heads for the men’s room, trusty keys in hand. I haven’t been able to stop checking her out since we got here. Black yoga pants cling to her shapely legs and emphasize her ass. The ass I was squeezing a few nights ago. I still remember how sweet it felt in my palms, and my fingers itch to touch her again.
“How was your week?” she asks nonchalantly.
I try not to raise an eyebrow. We’re playing the casual game, I see. Just ignoring the fact that she was ravenously sucking on my tongue the other night. Cool.
“Good. You?”
“Busy,” she admits. “It’s like every year I forget what a heavy workload it is to balance classes and hockey.”
“What’s your major?”
“Sports admin.” She shrugs. “Kinda always thought I’d make a good agent or manager, so I picked a major that could put me on that path. How about you?”
“Business admin. Not sure what I’ll do with it, though.”
When we enter the change area, she slides her jean jacket off her shoulders and drops it on the bench. For a second, I think she’s going to keep undressing—my libido wholeheartedly approves—but then she picks up her garment bag and heads for the adjacent shower area.
“I’ll change in here,” she calls over her shoulder.
Like the other times we’ve been here, we have the whole rink to ourselves and it’s eerily silent. It doesn’t feel like a real hockey arena without the soundtrack of pucks striking the boards and plexiglass. The sharp slap of a puck meeting its target can rattle the walls of a building. It’s my favorite sound in the world.
It’s almost impossible to focus on hockey tonight. Which is a thought I never imagined myself capable of thinking. I’m always focused on hockey. It’s in my blood.
But tonight, my blood is burning for something else.
Gigi seems distracted too, dropping several passes she’d normally make in her sleep.
You never realize what a truly bad idea it is to play any sport while distracted until someone gets hurt.
During our next battle for the puck, Gigi lets out a cry of pain that causes my entire body to tense. I stop in my tracks.
“You okay?” I ask immediately.
She slides her gloves off, wincing as she rotates her wrist. Concern wells up inside me. Shit. If she injured herself…this could fuck up her entire season.
“C’mere.”
I guide her toward the bench, where we sit down. I take her wrist in one hand and examine it with the other. I gently run my fingers over the tendons, watching her face for a reaction.
“Does this hurt?”
“No.” She visibly swallows. “I think it’s fine. Think I just tweaked it when we were against the boards.”
I press down on another spot, still studying her. “What about this?”
“No.”
“You sure?” I feel her pulse fluttering beneath the pad of my thumb now.
Gigi nods, looking relieved. “That twinge of pain I was feeling before is already gone.”
She rotates the wrist again but doesn’t make any move to withdraw it from my probing grasp.
“I’ve never actually broken a bone,” she admits. “Guess I’m lucky. My brother broke his arm three different times growing up. Have you ever broken anything?”
“Do ribs count?”
“Of course.”
“Then a couple different ribs, a couple different times. Other than that, it’s mostly been light sprains. Ankle, wrist.” I shrug. “Never broken anything important.”
“I mean, ribs are pretty important.” She reaches out and touches my rib cage over my sweaty jersey.
Even though she’s not touching my bare skin, I feel her fingers like a cattle brand.
“You know…” She trails off thoughtfully. Gray eyes peering into me.
It makes me uncomfortable, the way she’s looking at me. It’s as if she’s seeing something I can’t. As if she knows a secret about me that even I haven’t been able to decode.
Finally, she finishes that thought. “You’re not actually a dick.”
“Sure I am.”
“Nope. It’s an act. You care. You just don’t want anyone to know you care. I thought you had a huge chip on your shoulder, but the rudeness is a front for something.” Gigi’s lips curve slightly. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask what. I know you won’t tell me.”
